If It Were Spring
by The Perfect Drain
Summary: neville has something he's been wanting to say... (ooc, short, rated R for language) ... "if it were spring, and i killed a man -"


Neville was meek.  

No, no, Neville was more than meek, Neville was weak, and whimpered, and probably shat himself at every innocent sideways glance.  Neville was the shoddiest excuse for one of those lion hearted-brats that Draco Malfoy had ever seen.

Which is why it was such a surprise to Draco when Neville Longbottom came into his otherwise unoccupied train compartment and – get this! – proceeded to _sit down._

"Aww, poor 'Bottom, can't take the pressure from your friends, had to go cavort with the ickle safe Slytherin?" Draco snapped out, hurriedly trying to figure out just why Longbottom had come to sit with him.  Not even Crabbe and Goyle had found him yet, the damned fuckwits.

Now Longbottom was giving him the raised eyebrow look.  God, hasn't the little shit shat himself yet?

"Hello to you too, Draco," said Longbottom.  And smirked.  Smirked?  What the fucking - ?

"What the fucking - ?" Draco blurted, before he could stop himself.  Longbottom's eyes widened, then he started giggling.  Giggling!

"Who the hell gave you a confidence charm?" said Draco.  "Or was it a brutal stupidity curse?  I can't imagine what a shock that would be to your already weakened brain.  Leave now before I get… perturbed." 

"Lots of things can change over a summer or two, y'know," Longbottom commented.  "Plants bloom, plants wither, plants die, people bloom, wither, die… bloom."

"You're loony," Draco said.

"Oh yes," Longbottom chuckled.  "I'm flattered you noticed.  It's been years, Draco.  Years of germination."

Draco blinked at him. "What the fuck are you on about?"

Longbottom met his glare squarely, without flinching.  "I just finally figured it out, you know?  I spent a year thinking of this, a week planning this, a day agonizing over it, the six hours before I got to the platform just getting up my nerve.  And I was finally standing outside this compartment, and it just clicked: What can you do to me that I haven't already done?  Then I knew exactly what I was scared of."

"And what's that, 'Bottom, seeing as I'm the only one you're forcing to listen to your deranged rant?" Draco sneered.

"Oh, no, it's not that," Longbottom said, smiling.  "That's a story for another time.  That's the story of a lot of people.  This is just something I wanted to tell you.  See… I know that You…You-Know-Who's back, and has been for a while."

Draco's brain was humming.  He already knew that, of course, so why was Longbottom bringing it up?  Unless… Longbottom wanted to join them?  Draco convinced himself  he wasn't anticipating what Longbottom would say next.

"I know you're directly connected to the Deatheaters.  Your father is one, and you most likely are helping him."

Already knew that too, Draco thought, nodding for Longbottom to go on.  This could be interesting.

"I just wanted to make sure you know…" I'm on your side, I want to join Lord Voldemort, I'm on your side…

"Do not _dare…fuck -" and here Longbottom's voice stuttered, unused to the word – "With my friends.  __Don't fuck with us.  You're scum.  We're right, you're wrong.  Sometimes it's just like that."_

Draco, startled, (yes, startled, definitely not shocked), tried to think of some comeback.  Hell, _anything to say to this Longbottom who was most certainly not the Neville of before.  _

But he couldn't think of anything to say.  How embarrassing.

Longbottom stood up.  "Now, Draco Malfoy, I am going to go back to my friends.  Because I have friends, you see.  They love me, and so do my parents, even if they don't know it.  We're going to win.  And you, Draco Malfoy, are going to lose."

Longbottom only stumbled slightly on his way out of the compartment, leaving Draco staring after him in bemusement.  (Not disappointment. No.)  Draco shook his head and laughed once, harshly.

A Gryffindor to the last, after all.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

if it were spring

and i killed a man,

i would change him to leaves,

and hang him from a tree.

- excerpt from "if it were spring" by leonard cohen.


End file.
